


Before it Breaks: Clarity in Cardiff

by Aeolist



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeolist/pseuds/Aeolist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-BiB - The Doctors and Rose head to Cardiff to catch up with Jack now that they’re properly together. First in at least a few BiB-verse oneshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before it Breaks: Clarity in Cardiff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazygirlne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazygirlne/gifts).



> Thank you to scullywolf for the beta! This fic is a BELATED birthday gift for crazygirlne :)

“Cardiff!” the Doctor said -- the  _other_ , not-him Doctor -- as he came bounding through the corridor and into the console room.   
  
He wasn’t surprised. He could feel the rumblings of it, the buzz of energy at the back of his skull telling him the the other was giddy, ready to go somewhere -- along with that extra jolt that meant Rose was feeling the same.   
  
It had only been a few days since they’d all talked, since they’d started figuring things out. And, still, there were all those long hours -- when the others slept and he was left to his jumbled thoughts. One thing the Doctor had no doubt of was that Jack Harkness was the  _antithesis_  to any sort of clarity.   
  
“Isn’t it a bit soon?” he asked, though he closed the panel of grating he’d been working under anyway, moving into position across the console.   
  
“Nah!” The other landed on the other side of the console and began the dematerialisation sequence. “Rose wants to go.”   
  
“Where is Rose?”  
  
“Coming. Getting dressed.” He cocked his head. “It takes her so much time to pick out her clothing. Can’t imagine why humans feel a need to change what they wear so often.”  
  
“Once you find what works, there’s no need to go changing it.”   
  
“Right. Just look at us,” the other Doctor said, adjusting his tie with a sniff.  
  
“Oh, absolutely.” He paused. “Still, there is something to be said for Rose’s wardrobe. Sometimes.”   
  
The Doctor’s mind drifted to two days earlier and a particularly festive outfit she’d worn on the planet Fetoon. He felt a whisper of agreement across his mind and met the other Doctor’s eye with a smirk.  
  
“What about my wardrobe?” Rose asked, stepping into the room. She looked down at her worn jeans, her scuffed trainers, evaluative. “This is okay, right? I mean, s’just Jack. Not like I need to wear anything special, yeah?”   
  
The Doctor scoffed, felt a similar wave of amusement from his counterpart. “Jack wishes.”   
  
Rose sat on the jump seat, watching. The Doctor glanced at his duplicate, sent a flash of thought at him, something like  _let’s give her some showmanship_ , and the other Doctor smirked, reaching halfway across the console to press several buttons, then righting himself with a flourish. The Doctor spun into their wordless, choreographed dance, easily sidestepping his counterpart as he moved to the opposite of the TARDIS, giving Rose a wink as he passed, and she bit her lip, eyes scanning over them.  _Good._  
  
The other Doctor let out a ‘ha!’ as they materialised with barely a jostle and gave Rose an exaggerated, silly looking wink. Was that really what he looked like when he winked?   
  
Definitely not. Couldn’t be.  
  
Now, the other Doctor gave Rose an eager sort of look, nodding at the door. There was something much more immediate about him, about his enjoyment, as though he didn’t have thousands of thoughts flying through his mind all at once -- as though Rose’s happiness were enough to keep everything else at bay.   
  
The Doctor stepped away from the console, gesturing towards the door with a broad movement of his arm.   
  
“Cardiff awaits,” he said.   
  
Rose grinned, standing up and grabbing his hand as she passed by, the other one trailing behind them. She squeezed his fingers and warmth spread through him. Maybe he could understand where the other Doctor was coming from.   
  
“Where’re we meeting Jack?” the Doctor asked, attempting to affect an air of nonchalance.   
  
“This little pub he and I went to last time. I’ve already called him.”   
  
“Lovely,” he said.   
  
Rose squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to come.”   
  
“Yes you do,” said the other, glancing at the Doctor from Rose’s opposite side. “Don’t leave me to deal with the Captain all on my own.”  
  
Rose frowned. “Well, neither of you have to come.”   
  
“Didn’t say that,” the other said, quickly interjecting. “Just saying: All for one and one for all, hm?”   
  
“We the three musketeers?” Rose asked.   
  
“Could be,” said the other.   
  
“Suppose that’d make Jack d'Artagnan, then?” the Doctor asked.   
  
“Well…” They reached the entrance to the pub and the other Doctor pulled the door open, gesturing for Rose to step inside. “Not sure I see him as the poor, young nobleman.”   
  
“No. It’s not a very good metaphor,” the Doctor agreed, following after Rose.   
  
The pub was poorly lit. A security hazard, actually. Who knew who might be coming in and out of the place, the way the lights were dangling only every third or fourth booth. What was the wattage on those, anyway? Really, it made perfect sense that Jack would choose such an abysmal, unsafe setting for a pint or two, given Torchwood’s history for reckless stupidity. He felt a ripple of agreement from his counterpart.  
  
“Rose!”   
  
The Doctor turned, searching the room, before his eyes landed on Jack, who was seated in a corner booth, his great coat hung on a hook nearby. He waved them over, which was entirely unnecessary, as the pub wasn’t particularly large and was very empty. There wasn’t exactly anywhere for him to hide.  
  
Rose released his hand as she made her way eagerly to the booth, and he sniffed, running his now-empty hand through his hair. The other Doctor was a subtle humming in his mind and didn’t seem quite so tense as he, himself, was feeling. That only made the Doctor feel  _more_  tense. They came to stand in front of the booth, awkwardly looking at the spot next to Jack and the empty side, taking far too long to choose a seat.   
  
Rose, glancing between the men, seemed to catch on to his discomfort and, with a pleasant smile at Jack, sat down next to the Captain. The Doctor glanced at his counterpart, then at the empty side of the booth, then back again.  
  
“Would you sit already?” Jack asked, his loud voice cutting through the quiet pub.   
  
Pursing his lips, the Doctor sat, sliding into the interior seat. His counterpart was  _far_  more likely to have to get up, part-human bladder and all.   
  
Jack leaned forward in his seat and gave the Doctor a slap on his shoulder, broad grin lighting up his face as the Doctor scowled.   
  
“So, Brownie, how’ve you been?”   
  
“No,” the Doctor said. “Absolutely not.”   
  
Jack’s smile grew. His teeth were entirely too large and too white.   
  
“I need a way to refer to you two,” he said. “Separately. There’s a reason most people have  _names_  and not just titles with definite articles in front of them.”   
  
“I said no,” the Doctor said, pointing a finger at Jack and levelling him with a Very Serious stare.   
  
“Doctor One and Doctor Two?” Jack asked.   
  
“Angus and Rocco?” Rose offered.  
  
“What do you need names for?” the Doctor asked, voice going high as he cut Rose off. “Who goes around calling people by name? You look at me, and I’ll know you’re talking to me. Simple.”   
  
“Who goes around calling people by name?” Jack asked, eyebrows raised. “Are you serious? You do. All the time.”   
  
“I do not!”   
  
Rose scrunched up her nose. “You do, Doctor.”   
  
“Do I?” He looked at the other Doctor. “Do we?”   
  
“Weell,” the other Doctor said. “I have always enjoyed the way ‘Rose Tyler’ rolls off the tongue.”   
  
“Or on, eh?” Jack grinned.   
  
“What?” the other Doctor asked. “What does that mean, ‘or on’?”  
  
“Oh god,” Rose said, hiding her face behind her hand.  
  
Jack laughed, hand slapping against the table. The other Doctor’s breath caught a second later and he sputtered out a few syllables and only  _then_  did the Doctor realise what everyone was on about.   
  
“Humans.” He shook his head and turned to look at the other Doctor, pointing. “I mean you, too.”  
  
“You make it too easy.” Jack looked up at the bartender and raised three fingers in the air in a waving motion. “We’re having jack and cokes, unless anyone objects. Seemed appropriate.”   
  
“I don’t normally--” the Doctor started.  
  
“I won’t hear it. Have a drink. My city, my rules.”   
  
“It’s not exactly--”   
  
“Cardiff is  _hardly_  your--”   
  
The Doctor stopped. His counterpart continued.   
  
“We’ve spent  _ages_  in Cardiff. Ages! Before you ever set foot on Earth.”   
  
The bartender set their drinks on the table.   
  
“Even Rose spent time in Cardiff before you. Isn’t that right, Rose? Before you ever got here, Rose was here, saving the the universe and Charles Dickens to boot. Not only was that before you ever set foot here, but that was before you met any of us. So, that’s before you got here objectively  _and_  relatively and--”   
  
Rose pushed a drink at the other Doctor. He looked down at it, then at her. She nudged it a little closer to him.   
  
“All right,” he said, and picked it up, taking a sip through the absurdly tiny straw.   
  
Rose pushed another of the cocktails at the Doctor, then picked up the third herself. Jack already had his.   
  
“How about a toast?” he asked.   
  
The Doctor felt the wave of scepticism from himself  _and_  his counterpart simultaneously.   
  
“I’m not sure we--” he started.   
  
“To the Doctors, finally getting their heads out of their arses and shagging Rose.”   
  
Rose burst out laughing and, avoiding their eyes, clinked her glass to Jack’s.   
  
“Wait a minute,” said the other Doctor. “I’ll have you know I was on board with that from the start. Relatively speaking.”   
  
“Oi,” the Doctor said. “No. You don’t get to claim all our shared experiences -- constantly, incessantly, even -- and now, all of a sudden, pretend you’ve just sprung into being.”   
  
“Well, I have just sprung into being.”  
  
“You were me. We were just the one of us. And therefore you  _also_ \--”  
  
“Had your head up your arse?” Jack interrupted.   
  
“Precisely,” the Doctor agreed.   
  
“Wait. Wait.” Rose took a few long pulls of her drink, then replaced the glass on the table. They all quieted to look at her. She took a deep breath, let it out, then looked closely at the Doctors. “Nachos, d’ya think?”   
  
“Oh, yes,” the other Doctor said.   
  
“Excellent,” said Jack, and waved down the bartender again.   
  
\--  
  
“ _Good_  nachos,” his counterpart said, choosing one covered in quite a large piece of jalapeño and popping it into his mouth. He followed it with a swig of his second jack and coke. The Doctor wrinkled his nose.   
  
“Not a fan of hot peppers?” Jack asked him.   
  
“Well, these hardly qualify, do they?” the Doctor said, gesturing to the plate of food. “Now, the Blurzhgy pepper from Trasubuma 12, that’s a hot pepper. Or even the Red Savina, here on Earth. Over 250,000 Scoville units. That’s fifty times hotter than a jalapeño. So, really,” he shrugged, “don’t see much of a point to these.”  
  
“He’s lying,” the other Doctor said around a particularly large bite and the Doctor rolled his eyes, sending a wave of annoyance at him. “We definitely couldn’t eat a Red Savina. Time Lord taste buds are very sensitive to capsaicin. These taste much better to me now.”  
  
Jack laughed, plucking another nacho loaded with jalapeños and popping it into his mouth.   
  
“Was that really necessary?” the Doctor asked.   
  
His counterpart grinned around a bite of nacho and shrugged.   
  
“They like this all the time?” Jack asked.   
  
“Depends,” Rose said, eyes following the other Doctor as he took another bite. “They agree a lot of the time, too. Finish each other’s sentences sometimes. Can get spooky, really. But I think they like getting on each other’s nerves.”   
  
“We do not--”  
  
“Maybe we do.” The other Doctor chewed excruciatingly loudly. It was obviously the fault of human DNA. “It makes Rose laugh.”   
  
The Doctor frowned, looking down at his untouched jack and coke. Everyone else was on their second round. With a sigh, he grabbed it and raised it to his lips, taking a long drink.   
  
“Think this has been good for you,” Jack said, gesturing between the two men with the point of a nacho. “The split. Think maybe you were always… too much for one man. And I don’t mean me.”  
  
“How so?” the other asked, cocking his head.   
  
“Well, you’re clearly far less wound up. This you seems  _very_  relaxed. And, however grumpy you want to pretend to be,” he said, pointing at the Doctor, “I can tell you’re much happier.”   
  
“Yeah?” Rose asked, turning to look at Jack.   
  
“Oh, definitely. Saw him while you guys were apart. Total mess. And that was  _before_  the Master got a hold of him.”   
  
“Jack--” the Doctor warned.   
  
“The Master?” Rose asked.   
  
The other Doctor stopped chewing, and the Doctor felt his whisper of trepidation dancing across the back of his skull. Rose took another sip, watching them carefully.   
  
“Did you not tell her about--”   
  
“It’s been busy,” the Doctor said. “We’ve been -- sussing things out. A lot of -- important things. Very important.”  
  
“And anyway,” said the other Doctor, “Who has time to discuss every single thing that happened while we were apart? There are  _much_  better things to be doing.”   
  
The Doctor jumped in. “And it was a lot longer for me -- for us -- than for you, Jack. Lots of stuff to cover about our time apart. Hardly even a blip, the year that wasn’t.”  
  
“Still. A year together’s not exactly nothing,” Jack said. “Think it would merit mentioning. How dashing and heroic I was, at the very least.”  
  
“Wait, you spent an entire year together?” Rose asked.   
  
“Well, sort of.” The other Doctor took a long pull of his drink before continuing. “Also sort of not. There was--”  
  
The Doctor sent a wave of warning at his counterpart, who shut his mouth.   
  
They hadn’t talked about what they’d done. What had happened while she was gone. How broken he’d been, to start, and how much further he’d fallen when the Master took over. Rose didn’t even know who the Master was. And now, with Jack here, explaining it all, without the right context, without--  
  
“You’re both being weird,” Rose said. “You know you don’t have to talk about it.”   
  
Jack furrowed his brow. “Well, we have to tell her  _something_  now.” The Doctor sighed and nodded, and Jack started up again. “There was an enemy. An old enemy of the Doctor’s. He trapped us aboard his ship for a year, but in the end, the Doctor and Martha saved the world and time was reset. That’s all.”   
  
“Oh,” Rose said.   
  
“Don’t know why you have to make everything so serious,” Jack said.   
  
“It’s just--” the Doctor started.  
  
“We haven’t talked that much about what they got up to while I was gone,” Rose said.   
  
“We’ll tell you,” the other Doctor said. “We will. Just--”  
  
“In your own time. I know.” Rose smiled, reaching forward and putting her hand over the other Doctor’s, which was slightly shiny with grease. “It’s fine.”  
  
“Not sure how you deal with all their baggage, Rose,” Jack said.   
  
“There  _are_  perks,” she said and drained the last of her drink. She aimed a fond smile across the table and reached her other hand towards the Doctor. He squeezed it in his own.  
  
Jack waved the bartender back over without looking up, motioning for another round. “But you’re happy with them?”   
  
“Well,  _yeah_.” Rose released their hands, sitting up straight, and twirled a piece of hair around her finger.   
  
The Doctor could see the way her cheeks were tinted pink, her pupils wide. How many ounces of alcohol were in one of these drinks, anyway? She’d had two now. He picked up his glass, tilting it, measuring in his mind.   
  
“Definitely at least two ounces of whiskey per drink. Maybe three,” the other Doctor said. Were his cheeks pink, too?   
  
“ _How_  happy are you?” Jack asked, looking fairly lecherous.   
  
The Doctor had a sudden suspicion that he wasn’t the only one who realised Rose was tipsy.   
  
“Really happy. Really, properly happy.” Rose tried to get more liquid out of her glass, then gave up and replaced it on the table just as the next round arrived. She made a pleased sound and grabbed her new drink.  
  
“And -- when they make you happy-- When they make you really, properly happy--” Jack’s voice was sugary-sweet. The Doctor glanced at his counterpart, sent a wave of suspicion flitting towards him, but the other Doctor was a pleasant buzz at the back of his mind. “Is that something they normally do together or separately? We’d speculated it could be either.”   
  
“Both,” Rose said, raising her drink to her lips and sipping right from the rim of the glass. “Definitely both. Love being with them together, of course, but I spend loads of time with them alone, too.”   
  
“Jack. Behave.” The Doctor narrowed his eyes. Really, he didn’t know who he should be directing his order to, the way both of them were looking so absurdly mischievous.   
  
“I mean,” Rose continued, eyes on her drink. “Think they like making me happy together more, to be honest. Think they like that there’s always a spare set of hands.”   
  
The other Doctor choked on his bite of nacho, bursting into a raucous laugh. Jack laughed too, looking inordinately pleased. The Doctor glared at his counterpart.   
  
“What?” he said. “It’s true.”   
  
“Is it?” Jack asked. “That’s good to know.”  
  
“Course it is. Love spare hands! I mean, I  _was_  one, once.” He sniffed. “Also, I think I might be drunk.”  
  
“Cheers to that, Rose. And, Brownie? Think it’s about time you have another drink and loosen up. Blueberry, way to lead by example.”  
  
“Cheers,” said the other Doctor, raising his glass.   
  
They clinked glasses and Rose downed most of her third in one long gulp. He was surrounded by drunk, inappropriate idiots. The Doctor shrugged and tipped his head back, finishing the rest of his own drink.   
  
\--  
  
“And  _then_  we sent it right back through the rift,” Jack said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.   
  
“Oh, but Herrerasauruses-- sauri -- are beautiful!” The other Doctor took a long quaff of his drink and the Doctor saw Rose follow the movement of his adam’s apple. “You had one come through the rift and sent it back?”   
  
“We had to! They’re natural predators to pteranodons.”   
  
“What’s that got to do with it?” the Doctor asked, sipping his second drink.  
  
“It would’ve eaten Myfanwy!” Jack sounded exasperated. “If you’d’ve actually come down to the Hub, you’d’ve met Myfanwy, and you wouldn’t be asking me this.”  
  
Both Doctors rolled their eyes.   
  
“Think a healthy distance from Torchwood is…” The other Doctor paused, looking momentarily dazed. He really  _was_  sauced. The Doctor could feel it, vibrating at the back of his mind.   
  
“A little…” the Doctor prompted.   
  
“Well, healthy.”   
  
“Right.” The Doctor nodded.  
  
“Loo,” Rose said.   
  
“What’s that?” The Doctor looked over at her.   
  
“Loo. Going to the loo. ‘Scuse me.”   
  
She stood and slid out of the booth, moving towards the back of the bar. The other Doctor watched for a second, then, as though he’d been jolted with an electric shock, hopped up and followed her.   
  
“Me too,” he said, and Rose turned around, watching him approach with a smile. They wandered off together towards the back of the pub.   
  
“She seems well,” Jack said, once they were out of earshot.   
  
“She is.”   
  
“And you?”   
  
He exhaled, the long puff of air giving him a moment to think. It smelled like whiskey. The other Doctor’s buzz was settling into his own bones, rippling out like happiness.   
  
“I’m well too.”   
  
“Adjusting okay?”   
  
“Think so,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Thought it’d be -- different. That they’d wind up off the TARDIS, and me alone. But Rose wasn’t going to let that happen.”   
  
“No, she wasn’t. And she damn well shouldn’t. Last thing you need’s to be alone.”   
  
“Jack.”   
  
“Doctor. You know that as well as I do.”   
  
He frowned, emptying his drink. “Maybe.”   
  
“I’m happy for you.”   
  
The Doctor glanced up to find Jack looking at him with a very sappy facial expression. “Don’t -- don’t do that.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“Look at me all -- all -- I dunno. Like that, with the eyes. Yes, that. Stop it.”   
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Better?”   
  
“Yes. Thank you. Brilliant.”   
  
The buzz in his head shifted, growing excited, eager, and the Doctor fought the urge to roll his eyes. Typical. Jack was talking, though, so he put up a barrier in his mind, tuning it out--  
  
“It’s been tougher, here, with half my team gone,” Jack was saying, his tone quieter, gruffer. “Rough year. It’s good to know I have some friends who are doing well.”   
  
“Oh, well, that’s--”  
  
Jack lit up, eyes shifting away from the Doctor. He turned and found Martha and Mickey walking into the pub, heading right towards them. They were hand in hand and walking very close together, with that sort of well-practiced intimacy most couples didn’t achieve for a good, long while. And he’d seen them a month ago, relatively speaking. Now they were -- What were they even  _doing_  here?  
  
“Speak of the devil,” Jack said. “Martha! Mickey! Hey.”   
  
“‘Lo, boss,” Mickey said to the Doctor. “Jack.”  
  
“Doctor,” Martha said, a quiet smile on her face.   
  
The Doctor said nothing, giving them a surprised nod. He was slow. Sluggish. Totally lagging on the response time. By the time he’d decided to get up and give Martha a hug, Jack had already slid out of his side of the booth and stood, gesturing for Martha and Mickey to take that side themselves. They sat, and the Doctor looked down at his drink, puzzled to find it empty, wondering whether that was why he’d been so hopeless. Jack was up grabbing a round for the couple. And his counterpart and Rose  _still_  weren’t back.   
  
“Heard you were here for a visit,” Mickey said.   
  
“We wanted to come say hello,” Martha added. “How are you?”   
  
“I’m -- I’m good.”   
  
“And Rose?” Mickey asked. “She here too?”   
  
“Yeah,” he said. “She’ll be right back. But she’s here. And her mum, and Pete, and Tony. They’re in France. Rose isn’t in France. Rose is in the loo. But... Everyone made it. Everyone stayed.”   
  
“I know that,” Mickey said, stretching and putting his arm around Martha. “Meant  _here_. Talk to Jackie every Saturday. Even been out to visit, once.”   
  
“Is that right?”   
  
“Well, I’m Tony’s godfather. We’re family,” he said, some bluster in it. He looked away and said, “It’s a nice house. They’re happy.”   
  
The Doctor nodded, slowly, trying to hide his surprise. Trying to pretend Mickey’s approval meant nothing, though it touched him, a little, maybe. Jack joined them again, two drinks in his hands, which he placed on the table. He grabbed an empty chair and pulled it to the end of the table, spinning it around, and throwing a leg over it as he sat down.   
  
“Martha and Mickey are freelancers,” he said, leaning his forearms on the chair. “They’ve been helping me out at the Hub. We’ve been shorthanded.”   
  
“Ah,” said the Doctor. He wasn’t sure he was ready to be around Mickey and Martha. Even Jack felt soon, but  _Mickey and Martha_ , particularly now that they were mysteriously together, and why didn’t that occur to him, why didn’t that--  
  
“It’s great to see you,” Martha said. “Under less dire circumstances, y’know. You should come for a visit more often.”   
  
He met her eyes and smiled. Couldn’t help it. “It’s great to see you too.”   
  
There was some commotion from the back of the pub, loud enough to pull them out of their conversation, and they looked up to find the other Doctor and Rose, giggling, walking back towards the table in a crooked line whilst they leaned heavily on one another. One of his shirttails was sticking out and her hair, which had been down before, was pulled back into a messy ponytail. He sent a wave of sobering annoyance at his counterpart, but it didn’t seem to do much good.   
  
They looked up as they got to the table and the other Doctor halted, glancing between the two as though it were taking a very long time for some neural connection to occur. Then, he greeted them enthusiastically, leaning down to shake their hands, making a ridiculous show of it. Rose watched Mickey, her mouth hanging open.   
  
“Look who decided to join us,” Jack said. “I was just telling Brownie here that they’ve been helping me at the Hub.”   
  
“Oi,” the Doctor protested weakly.   
  
Mickey snorted.   
  
“ _Oi_ ,” the Doctor said again, some heat in it this time. “Don’t even think about it.”   
  
Mickey pressed his lips together, but he was still grinning underneath. The other finally stopped saying their names repeatedly -- what an obnoxious habit, maybe Jack did have a point about the name thing -- and then silence fell over the group. Rose still looked stricken; he should really try to figure out what the issue was, why she was looking at Mickey like he was an unwelcome intruder--  
  
“Sit already,” Jack said. No one moved. “Rose?”   
  
“Right,” she said, and slid into the booth next to the Doctor. “Right.”   
  
The other Doctor slid in enthusiastically, squishing Rose into his side, and the Doctor lifted his arm so she could snuggle against him the way she liked, since the booth was a little tight. But she kept herself separate, from both of them, really, leaning forward and finding her abandoned drink, elbows on the table to make herself as narrow as possible in the seat. Mickey was watching her with a shrewd expression.   
  
“All right?” he asked.   
  
“Yeah. Hey Mick. How’ve you been?”   
  
He glanced at Martha, smiled, squeezing her closer. “Great, actually.”   
  
“That’s-- that’s good. Really. Good. We were -- just here for a pint. Or, a drink, y’know. Not beer, this is -- it’s not beer, that I’m drinking. But we’re going, soon, right?” She looked at the Doctor. He tilted his head, studying her.   
  
“Stay,” Mickey said, tone brokering no argument. His eyes flitted between Rose and the Doctors, his expression very, very neutral. “Next round’s on me.”  
  
 _What’s wrong with Rose?_  the Doctor asked through their link. The other one couldn’t answer him back, not properly, but he caught his counterpart’s eye, watched as his lips turned down in thought. A sense of slow confusion flitted along his mind, settling somewhere in his spine.   
  
The other Doctor leaned forward, groping for her hand where it lay on the table, and Rose twisted away, stopping just short of burrowing into the Doctor.   
  
 _Oh!_  The thought was instant, like a bolt that struck as the Doctor watched her squirm away from his counterpart. He sent it to the other Doctor.  _She’s worried about what Mickey will think._  
  
“ _Ohhh_ ,” the other Doctor said aloud.   
  
“What?” Jack asked.   
  
The Doctor looked up, finding Jack, Martha, Mickey, and Rose watching them. There may have been some other conversation taking place at the table, before his counterpart interjected.   
  
“I just realised…” the other Doctor started. “That, er, Roald Dahl was Welsh. That’s why it’s called that, the Plass.”   
  
Everyone was silent for a moment.   
  
“Are you completely wasted?” Jack asked.   
  
“Anyway!” the Doctor said. Clearly all ability to make a convincing cover was tied to  _fully_  Time Lord DNA. “When did you two get together…?”   
  
Martha raised her eyebrows. “We just said.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“Do you each have half the brain power, now, or--”   
  
“Mickey,” Martha said, voice chiding. “They’ve been drinking, that’s all. I’ve never seen the Doctor drink.”   
  
“I have,” Jack said. “His last body could hold its liquor better.”  
  
“It’s been three weeks,” Martha said. “It’s still new. But--” She turned, looking at Mickey, and couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “It’s good. Really, really good.”   
  
Mickey smiled in return, crinkles forming around his eyes as his expression softened. “Yeah. It is.”   
  
“That’s great!” the Doctor said, mustering as much enthusiasm as possible. “Not a lot of people who can relate to this life, hm? And you two’re both brilliant. And you’re happy, right?”   
  
Rose turned, looking at him, a very confused expression on her face. Maybe he was a touch too loud.   
  
“Yeah,” Martha said, unnoticing, leaning into Mickey’s side.   
  
“Brilliant. Really, really, brilliant. Right?” He looked at the other Doctor. “We’re just… very happy that you’re happy. Aren’t we.”   
  
“Er. Yes.” The other Doctor sounded unsure. He obviously wasn’t following the very clever plan the Doctor had just devised.   
  
“Because we’re mates. Aren’t we? Mates. And mates are happy when their mates are happy. That’s what makes them mates.”   
  
“Stop saying mates,” the other Doctor said under his breath.   
  
Rose picked up her drink and finished it without taking a breath.   
  
“Is everything--” Jack looked from the Doctor, to Rose, to the other Doctor. “Oh. I see.”   
  
“I don’t think I do,” Rose said.   
  
“Me neither,” Martha agreed.   
  
“We were just saying that -- when you see your friend happy, it’s -- it’s good. And you don’t care about anything else.” The Doctor nodded very convincingly.   
  
“ _Oh,_ ” said Mickey. “Right.”   
  
“What?” Martha asked.   
  
“We’re fine with you three,” Mickey said. “You can -- stop whatever it is you’re doing, Doctor.”  
  
“What?” Rose asked, her voice a squeak. She was turning very pink.  
  
“Come on, Rose, don’t be thick,” Mickey said. “Between Jack and your mum, I’ve known for weeks.”   
  
“You have?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And I’m happy for you, too, Doctor.” Martha looked at the other. “Doctors.”   
  
“Yeah?” the other Doctor said, sounding pleased. The Doctor felt it too, the warm sense of acceptance, the thought that almost all of the people closest to them supported them. It couldn’t possibly be  _that_  absurd an idea, this arrangement, if Martha Jones approved.  
  
“Yes. Besides,” Martha added, sounding very casual. “The way he was pining over you, Rose? Of course there being two of him wouldn’t matter.”   
  
“What, really?” Rose’s eyes shot to Martha.   
  
The Doctors spoke simultaneously. “I wasn’t  _pining_ \--”   
  
“Rose was pining too, if that helps,” Mickey said, grabbing a cold nacho and popping it into his mouth.   
  
“Thanks, Mickey. Really helpful.”   
  
“You’re welcome. But I do mean it, Rose,” he said, sounding more serious. “I’m glad you’re happy.”   
  
“Really?” Rose asked. “I just thought, maybe--”  
  
“I helped you cross universes for him. Think I’m past judging by now, yeah?”   
  
She bit her lip, fingers dancing along the condensation lining the exterior of her empty glass. After a second, she let out a big sigh, nodding, and met Mickey’s eyes. Something slotted into place for the Doctor, seeing Rose let go of her tension. She was really -- it was something she wanted Mickey to accept. Something she wanted everyone to know. Not just Captain Jack Harkness, hedonist extraordinaire. It was real, was what it was. It felt good, as did the answering flicker of contentment from the other Doctor.   
  
“Thanks,” she said, finally. “It’s -- I never expected, y’know? But I think it’s right.”   
  
Mickey looked over at Martha, smile spreading along his face. “Know what you mean.”   
  
“Well!” the Doctor said, tugging at his ear. “Glad that’s settled. Should we maybe get something to eat? Something not covered in jalapeños?”   
  
\--   
  
The conversation flowed better after a large order of chips and another round of drinks. Rose told them about their adventures on Traemaria and New Earth Prime and the Tadpole Galaxy. She didn’t quite say how they’d finally got together, but that was fine with the Doctor, really. And Martha and Mickey listened on with rapt attention. Almost too rapt. The Doctor thought maybe they were due for a trip or two themselves, sometime soon.  
  
For now, though, Mickey and Martha were planning on travelling together, facing down alien threats on Earth all on their own. Jack practically looked like a proud parent, the way he couldn’t stop beaming at them.  
  
Still, the longer the Doctor looked at them together, the more sense it made. Martha and Mickey were both steadfastly loyal, clever, and, when it came down to it, very brave. It may have taken longer to develop in Mickey, but… It did. He started to feel very smug about it, started wondering how many happy couples he’d spawned through the universe. Universes, really. Nearly forgot to berate himself for all the damage he’d done, besides.  
  
“Think I need to go to bed,” Rose said, ninety three minutes later, glassy eyes fixed on the table, her last drink sitting in front of her half-full. She looked done for, really, and the other Doctor felt like a tired, blurry mess in his head.   
  
“Yeah,” Mickey said, looking at his wrist watch. “It’s late, innit.”   
  
“We were here a while before you arrived,” the Doctor said. “So, yes, it is late, for us. Well. For them. Not for me. It’s early for me, when you get down to it. But that’s only because--”  
  
“All right,” Mickey said. He looked at Martha, who seemed to be holding back laughter. “Ready?”   
  
“Yeah,” she said, sliding out of the booth and stretching her arms over head.  
  
The other Doctor got up, too, and didn’t hesitate to pull Mickey into a rather enthusiastic hug. Mickey patted him on the back and, as soon as they parted, he pulled Martha into a hug as well. Rose slid out of the booth and the Doctor watched her, making sure she wasn’t going to stumble, but she seemed steady on her feet. When he looked over at the rest, the other Doctor was hugging Jack. He was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. With as much dignity as he could muster, the Doctor slid out of the booth and stood next to Rose, waiting while she hugged everyone as well.   
  
“Doctor?” Jack asked, arms spread wide.  
  
He shook his head.   
  
“C’mon. I didn’t even call you Brownie.”  
  
He sighed. “Oh, all right.”   
  
After a quick -- very reserved -- round of hugs, he bid the others farewell, promising to come for another visit soon. He kept a careful eye on Rose and his counterpart but they were, for the most part, walking straight.   
  
When they arrived at the TARDIS, they stomped straight past the console room and towards their bedroom, leaving the Doctor to dematerialise by himself. He did, no problem there, particularly since he was, by far, the better driver.   
  
After, he found them in their room, each still dressed minus their trousers, cuddled up together and snoring. The other Doctor’s exhaustion was a subtle weight, pulling at his eyelids, or maybe that was from the drinks. Hard to tell, really. Feeling very much like the only responsible member of their trio, he slowly unknotted his tie and unbuttoned his oxford and trousers, sliding into the bed in just his t-shirt and boxer briefs.   
  
His last thought before drifting off, Rose warm at his side, was that maybe, in this one instance, visiting Jack Harkness had actually brought some clarity. 


End file.
